Look Homeward, Angel
When Skye arrived home, her lights were on and vehicles of every description filled her driveway. Crapola! Just what she needed—her family must have heard the news about the body in the bookstore and descended on her to find out the details. Once Wally put up the barricades and sent Chase to the police station, it was inevitable that the Scumble River grapevine would kick into high gear—and Skye’s mother was one of the biggest grapes.
From the cars parked in front of her house, Skye knew exactly who was inside. The white Oldsmobile belonged to her mother, the blue pickup to her dad, Uncle Charlie drove the Cadillac, her brother owned the Jeep, and Trixie’s Civic rounded out the group.
Shoot! She really didn’t want to have to deal with any of them right now. When the crime scene techs had finally arrived from Laurel, it had taken the team a couple of hours to go through the store. Meanwhile, Wally had sent Risé and Orlando to the police station, left his officers in charge at the store, and he and Skye had driven to Kayla’s parents’ house to inform them of her death.
Afterward, Wally and Skye had taken the bookshop owners’ reports, along with a statement from Chase Wren. It was now past five, and Skye craved quiet and solitude. And maybe a sandwich, since she had never gotten to eat her Big Mac.
She sat unmoving in the Bel Air. What would happen if instead of getting out, she turned around and headed to Wally’s? A moment’s reflection reminded her that if her family thought she was missing, their ensuing actions would be worse than facing their questions now. May and Charlie were not above calling in the National Guard, not to mention the cadaver dogs and the FBI.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Skye dragged herself out of the Chevy and trudged up the sidewalk. She wasn’t surprised that her family was inside her house instead of waiting on the front porch. Her mother had a key, and although she was supposed to use it only for emergencies, May would definitely classify her quest for the most recent buzz as urgent.
As Skye stepped through the front door, the smell of roast beef and the hum of chatter greeted her. She crept forward and peeked into the kitchen. The men were gathered around the table, while May and Trixie bustled from stove to refrigerator to cupboard. Bingo, Skye’s black cat, gazed at her from beside his food bowl. He nudged it in her direction, and when she made no move to fill it, he meowed unhappily.
Bingo’s mew drew May’s attention to Skye, and her shriek alerted the others. In the blink of an eye, they all descended on Skye like shoppers on a Black Friday door-buster sale item.
Skye braced herself for the onslaught. May won the race, which was nothing short of remarkable considering that Trixie was twenty-five years younger and had come in third in the Stanley County marathon a few weeks ago.
“Are you all right?” May swept Skye into a hug, pulled her into the room, and whirled her around, all the while talking so fast she nearly stuttered. “What kept you so long? What happened? Who died?”
Skye stood still and let her mother fuss. When May worked herself up to this state, she resembled an overly caffeinated telemarketer, and there was nothing you could do but let her get through her spiel.
The others gathered around them, and Skye spotted Loretta Steiner grinning at her from the doorway. She was Skye’s sorority sister, sometimes her attorney, and possibly her future sister-in-law. At six feet tall, with coal black hair and mahogany skin, she looked like royalty from some exotic land, a queen wearing Manolo Blahnik sandals and a Cartier ruby pendant.
Loretta found Skye’s family vastly entertaining and didn’t try to hide her enjoyment. Skye wondered whether she’d still be as amused if she and Vince became engaged and Loretta replaced Skye as the target of May’s attention.
Skye’s father, Jed, interrupted her thoughts by awkwardly patting her shoulder. “You okay?” His faded brown eyes peered anxiously from his tanned, leathery face.
“I’m fine, Dad.” Skye kissed Jed’s cheek, hugged her mom, and led the brigade back toward the table. “Wally and I had to wait for the crime scene techs to finish. Then we talked to the owners. I don’t think they know what happened yet. Kayla Hines was the victim.” Since the next of kin had been notified, Wally had said it was okay to reveal who had died.
There was a split second of silence while everyone absorbed the information; then Uncle Charlie said, “I knew those new people were going to be nothing but trouble from the minute I met them. He’s some old hippie still ‘scarred’ by the war, and she thinks she’s so freaking green, she might as well be Kermit the Frog.”
Charlie was an imposing figure, weighing in at more than three hundred pounds and standing six feet tall. He was also opinionated, manipulative, and he disliked change. But he would do anything for May, whom he thought of as a daughter, or Vince and Skye, whom he considered his grandchildren.
“Really, Uncle Charlie.” Skye blew a curl out of her eyes. “Trying to conserve our natural resources is a good thing, and Orlando fought for this country and doesn’t deserve to be called names.”
He harrumphed but didn’t argue. After a moment, he, Jed, Vince, and Loretta sat down, and May and Trixie went back to the stove. As soon as everyone was settled, they all started talking and asking questions at once. Skye’s head was spinning, and she swayed, unable to focus on what anyone was saying. She felt like she might pass out.
Suddenly, Loretta put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Everyone fell abruptly silent, and Loretta said, “People, give her a chance to talk.” She turned to Skye. “Start at the beginning and tell us what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
Charlie and May frowned, but Vince and Trixie nodded. Jed shoved back his John Deere gimme cap and scratched his head, his expression hard to read.
May said, “Is that the way to behave in front of your maybe, I hope, future mother-in-law?”
“Sorry.” Loretta’s expression was neutral. “Too many years dealing with unruly clients, I guess.” She turned her head toward Skye and winked. “So . . . ?”
Skye walked over to the fridge and retrieved a can of Diet Coke. After popping the top and taking a healthy swallow, she described her day, skipping her coffee with Simon. She ended by saying, “Which means, it looks as if the store was robbed, and poor Kayla was unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What aren’t you telling us?” May aimed her laser-like truth-finding glare at Skye.
“Nothing that’s relevant to the situation.” Skye could have kicked herself. Why had she added those last five words?
“How about what isn’t relevant? Come on, Skye. You’re the police consultant and engaged to the chief. The girls expect me to tell them stuff everyone else doesn’t know.”
Skye opened her mouth, but Jed spoke first. “Ma, gossip’s not very Christian of you.”
May’s cheeks reddened. “I can’t help it. I got RLS.”
“What’s that?” Trixie asked.
“I saw it on that talk show,” May explained. “That one with the Hollywood psychiatrist. He says people like me have Restless Lips Syndrome.”
For a nanosecond the group was silent; then they all chimed in with their opinions regarding TV hosts and their medical qualifications. As the voices reached a peak, Skye caught a blur of black fur out of the corner of her eye and rose from her chair.
With everyone distracted, Bingo must have decided this was the perfect time to make a move on the roast. He ran past the people seated at the table, crouched, and launched himself at the counter. They all watched as at the last moment he apparently realized he couldn’t make it and flailed all four legs as if he were trying to fly, then dropped to floor. Everyone roared with laughter, and Bingo stalked out of the kitchen.